Ariadne(45)

The god – for there was no doubt that he was a powerful deity indeed – tipped his head back in full-throated gales of mirth now. The one man who still knelt on board was shaking his head in disbelief, still clutching at his hair as though he sought to pull the memories of what he had just witnessed from his skull. The god strode towards him; the man cringed away, but the golden immortal clapped him cheerily on the shoulders. Evidently, he was the favoured one, saved from the fate of his fellow sailors. The god was pointing at the beach, talking quickly; though I still could not hear his words, he clearly intended to land on the shore of Naxos. No doubt the grapes had flourished and the wine flowed here in anticipation of his arrival.

I drew back behind the rock, my heart pounding and thoughts racing. This island, which I had thought to be my lonely tomb, was now the destination of an unpredictable, unimaginably powerful Olympian god. If it occurred to him, he could strike me dead in an instant. Or worse. I had no defence; no means of protection. I had watched him transform men into dumb beasts of the sea. I saw it again, played out against the backs of my eyelids as I squeezed them shut. I could hear the sailors’ flesh bursting, their bones cracking in that hideous change. Tears of panic slid down my cheeks.

What would he do to me? The question pounded in my temples. Should I hide? I could run into the tangle of the island’s forests, but what were trees to a god? No hiding place I could find would conceal me from divine eyes.

The house of course was his. It must be his golden bed that Theseus had led me to, where we had enjoyed our illicit tryst. I thought of Athena’s fury at Medusa for her ravishment by Poseidon in her temple, and I quaked. I had gone willingly. Now, somewhere over that wide blue sea, Theseus lolled with impunity on royal couches, admired by all for his bravery, his noble and heroic exploits – and like a thousand women before me, I would pay the price of what we had done together.

Although I felt I would dissolve with terror, the embers of rage – which I thought had burned out when I destroyed the grapes – flickered to life in my chest. If Dionysus came to punish me, there was nothing I could do. I could die whimpering or I could face my fate with the courage of all those women before me. I held Medusa’s image in my head, calming my deep ragged breaths. Her snakes hissed and spat and contorted about her head, striking fear into the hearts of so-called heroes as they cringed away. I could be the same. My rage would be my shield. Even though Dionysus could sizzle my flesh to nothing with a flash of his golden eyes, I would not cringe away in fear.

I walked back through the little house, taking the gentle path to the beach. I straightened my dress around me – the same one that I had arrived in. My mother’s dress, stolen by Theseus’ men and now stained, tattered and all I had left. I pulled my fingers through my hair, snagging on knotted curls. The bee necklace still shone incongruously at my throat.

I felt calm as I walked. Somewhere deep inside, nervousness roiled and writhed but it felt far away, smothered by a blanket of quiet certainty. Whatever happened now, it would not be the doom I had feared was mine when I awoke to that empty bed and the cold stone of understanding in my belly. I would not die alone on Naxos now. Perhaps Dionysus – for I knew it must be he – would take pity on me. Where there had been despair, I now felt a flicker of hope.

I reached the golden sands and watched the wooden bulk of the ship glide through the water towards the shore. I could see the god and the man busy at work on the deck, guiding the vessel steadily and securing it in place, bobbing gently on the waves. I stood as tall as I could, my head held high and my fists clenched by my sides.

They descended the high side of the ship, climbing nimbly down the ropes. The man followed the god eagerly, gratefully. As they splashed through the water, I knew they must see me standing there but I could not discern their expressions.

The hot sun beat down upon us, glinting off the waves in sharp, white blades that left a burning impression on the back of my eyelids when I blinked. I squinted, stepped back, thrown off balance. Dionysus’ trailing laughter reached me before he did – a joyful, melodious sound scattered before him over the water. As the two figures loomed closer, the shape of the man broke the sun’s glare and I could at last see them both clearly.

The man looked dumbfounded. His jaw hung open and his eyes were wide and staring. His brain must be scrambling to keep pace with the bizarre events: his ship wreathed in ivy and running red with wine; his crew transformed and disappeared within seconds; and now a dishevelled woman on a deserted island? The god, meanwhile . . .

His figure was slight and graceful as he strode through the surf. Behind him, the man looked lumpen and coarse, his heavily muscled arms swinging awkwardly and his skin rough and reddened. Dionysus looked as though he had only just reached manhood; his face was boyish, gleaming with barely repressed mischief and mirth. He betrayed no surprise at finding me here but looked warmly at me, as though he were approaching an old friend.

He was, needless to say, breathtaking – a shimmering vision next to whom any mortal would suffer in comparison. But there was something so careless, so easy, in his smile that it made him less intimidating – less imposing – than I had ever dreamed an Olympian could be.

They stepped out of the breakers on to the sand. The man still gawped, awestruck by his divine companion, reeling from confusion or fearful of what was still to come.

The god smiled, his hand outstretched towards me. ‘Greetings!’ he called. His voice was as smooth and rich as honey.